


then and now (it's the best time of the year)

by Sylvalum



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Fluff and Slight Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 18:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvalum/pseuds/Sylvalum
Summary: Happy holidays, Snow. You can sit with Wellbelove and snuggle and feed each other gingerbread, and I’ll be in Hampshire eating dinner in a suit and politely discussing my future with my father, just me and the gargoyles on my bed.Happy holidays, Snow.(And a year later, he set the forest ablaze.)





	then and now (it's the best time of the year)

**Author's Note:**

> I love, _love_ Carry On, and then this just... happened.

BAZ

There’s frost on the window. For once, Snow had the sense to not leave the window open – a cold so bitter it managed to get through his thick skull? Marvellous. The winter break will start in two days, and then I’ll be rid of Snow for the rest of the year. Just I, my family, and the air full of quiet disappointments and things never said…

_I can’t wait._

I dress in my warmest clothes, and set out for breakfast. 

* * *

When the last class ends, I can’t think of anywhere else to go than our room. (My room, our room – what does it matter? Snow will still be there.) Maybe Snow won’t be there – but where else would he be, exactly? Sneaking around the grounds with Bunce? It’s too cold for that. (Or is it, really? If Snow went off he’d melt all the ice in the area.)

-Unfortunately when I step inside the room, he looks up and pins me with a glare. He’s always glaring, and I always sneer right back. He doesn’t say anything, just stares, so I sit down at my bed, thinking I could start on my homework. (It’s a miniscule load. With the break coming up, it always is.)

Snow finally opens his mouth: “You’re doing homework?” he says incredulously.

“No, I’m plotting your gruesome death in my Greek textbook.” I flip a page, demonstratively. 

He isn’t thwarted. “I wasn’t- Why are you doing homework now?” 

“It’s due tomorrow, Snow,” I say slowly.

“Not the Greek assignment.”

I roll my eyes, and start writing. Deliberately ignoring him. It’s going as well as it usually goes – I listen to when he starts on his own homework, pages rustling, pen scratching… faint breathing just barely audible. And when I get _that_ far, I force myself to stop paying attention to him.

…He’ll be going to the Wellbeloves for Christmas, won’t he?

I’m not going to ask.

Though _he_ does: “Going home for Christmas?”

“Yes.” I say curtly. And I look at him, because again he’s staring. “Spending it with Wellbelove?”

“Yes,” he says like it’s a challenge, and looks at me.

…I’m the one who looks away first. “Have fun with your girlfriend,” I drawl, and he makes an affronted noise but doesn’t get up. Happy holidays, Snow. You can sit with Wellbelove and snuggle and feed each other gingerbread, and I’ll be in Hampshire eating dinner in a suit and politely discussing my future with my father, just me and the gargoyles on my bed. _Happy holidays, Snow._

* * *

(And a year later, he set the forest ablaze.)

* * *

SIMON

We stepped into the flat, without any food in the fridge, and with Penny still back in England. So Baz just turned right around and went back down the stairs, (“I’m going shopping – want anything?” “Scones.” “Snow, it’s _Christmas_ -“) And while he drove to the nearest store, I… I moved through the living room, and sat down on the sofa, minding my wings. 

…It was good to be home again.

I turned on the lights, and then I turned them off again. Turned on the Christmas lights (which were tucked in everywhere where we wanted to hide the fact that we didn’t have a tree.) I moved the bags, looked through the rooms. Made sure we hadn’t forgotten anything in the fridge. Which wasn’t likely – Baz had checked everything meticulously.

We hadn’t.

I then heard noises from the door, so I went back there. Baz let me take the single bag he had bought, shedding his coat, and I took it to the kitchen. We unpacked the bag on the table, which revealed that it was mostly just sweets, some pastries, and scones (thanks). I told him that. He tried to make some sort of complicated expression, so I kissed him…

Forty minutes later, and we’re both on the couch, watching A Typical Christmas Movie. Baz usually keeps a running commentary on how the villain could’ve done things better, how the hero could’ve done things better, and how the singing and costumes and acting could have been done better. He’s mostly silent now…

He’s not asleep, though.

We’re both wearing ugly Christmas sweaters. From each other. They were matching and on sale. That’s the only reason we bought them. The only reason. (Penny cut holes in the back for my wings. And then Baz said it was badly done, and re-cut them himself.) The sweaters are also very warm. And soft, if you put your head on Baz’s shoulder…

“Tired?” he asks, suddenly.

“Are you tired?” I ask back.

“No. I’m a vampire, remember?”

“You’ve told me _at least_ five times that vampires aren’t nocturnal.” There’s a pause after that. He doesn’t answer, so I say, softly, “What are you thinking of?”

We ask that of each other from time to time. We don’t always answer. Or I just say “ _you_ ” and then Baz smiles the softest of smiles, like he’s suddenly realised something good. 

Now he says: “Last Christmas.” And it’s like he’s going to continue that thought, that sentence, but he just doesn’t. 

“Last Christmas…” …Thinking he would die. The glow of the fire-- _kissing him_. Kissing him so much. Kissing him until his lips were almost pink again… And then the Humdrum happened.

“And the Christmas before that,” Baz continues, suddenly. “And the one before…” And then he says, very quietly. “I never expected to end up here.”

“In Prague?”

He rolls his eyes. “With _you_.” …And then he looks a bit embarrassed, like he said a bit too much, and adds, “In Prague. In Penelope Bunce’s flat, of all places.”

“With you,” I say, and grin.

He breathes, but it has laughter in it. “With you… In Prague.”

I look at him, the Christmas lights putting colour in his cheeks. In his eyes, little golden spots. And I just say, easy like taking a breath; “I’m glad you’re here.”

He looks at me, _how do you expect me to reply to something like that_ , so I turn my head and catch his lips. His words die, and he draws himself up to meet me, hand brushing over my hair before coming to rest at the nape of my neck. He tastes like gingerbread and something sickly sweet, and I think, in the back of my mind, that this Christmas might be the best I’ve ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> In other news: goddammit, i Messed Up - Wiltshire and Hampshire. Anyway, it's fixed now.


End file.
